


Me Time

by hunenka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Stanford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunenka/pseuds/hunenka
Summary: There’s a tub in the motel bathroom.





	Me Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #celebratingdean week 11: birthday.

There’s a tub in the motel bathroom. An honest-to-God bathtub instead of the usual shower that’s so small you can hardly squeeze yourself in without having to touch the slimy tiles that haven't probably been scrubbed since Elvis died.

It’s clean, too. Nothing fancy—far from it, because pool and poker money from seedy hicktown bars doesn’t get you far, especially if you’re providing for two other men, one of them growing an inch every week, or so it seems—but just like the rest of the motel, it looks taken care of.

Dean almost doesn’t dare hope, because this is way too good already, but when he turns the faucet on, hot water starts pouring almost immediately.

“Awesome,” he breathes out before walking back into the other room, where Sam is buried in a textbook, the rest of the world dead to him. Dad is spreading newspaper clippings and copies of records from the local archives all over his bed, the concentrated frown on his face identical to the one Sam is wearing. They both look captivated enough by their respective tasks that a confrontation is unlikely, even though you never know for sure with these two, especially lately.

But that’s not Dean’s problem. Not right now.

“Dibs on the tub,” he calls out, getting two uninterested grunts in return.

“Dibs on flying the three-headed pigeon,” he tries, and gets the same answer. Good. They should be able to not kill each other for a while.

He quickly grabs some fresh clothes from his duffle and retreats into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He puts the drain plug in and starts the water, testing it with his hand and letting it fill the tub while his old clothes form a dirty pile in the corner next to the door. Then he waits for a while, standing outside the tub and watching it slowly fill with water, letting the anticipation build. He can’t even remember the last time he took a bath.

When he finally dips one foot into the water, he decides there was enough anticipation and he needs to get in right now. He settles in the tub, shimmying around a bit until he’s comfortable, head resting against the edge—he probably should’ve gotten a folded towel to lay his head on, but whatever, no way is he getting up now—legs bent at the knees to fit in, feet under the faucet where the warmest water falls. He wiggles his toes under the spray and watches the bubbles that form on the surface, and thinks that it might be cool to keep some bath foam around, because from what he remembers as a kid, bubble baths were _fun_.

This one time, he made himself a foam beard, then quickly climbed out of the tub, wrapped himself in a red towel and pretended to be Santa, something that made Mom and Dad laugh even though he got water all over them in his excitement. That was their last Christmas together.

Dean sits up, leaning forward to reach the faucets and turn the water even hotter, so hot it’s almost too much. Almost.

He leans back again, the rising water sloshing around him, the level high enough now that he feels lighter, almost like he’s floating. The hot water feels amazing on the bruises on his back from where a ghost threw him down a flight of stairs a few days ago, and as he lies there, he can feel tense muscles relaxing, like weight falling off his shoulders and making him feel like a different man.

The tub is getting full and so he sits up one last time to turn the water off, moving slow and careful not to spill a drop because this is precious and there’s no telling when he’ll ever get to enjoy a bath like this again.

He closes his eyes and relaxes back again with a happy sigh.

And then the raised voices come through the door, making Dean’s eyes shoot open as he sits up. It’s Sam and Dad. They’re not outright arguing yet, but even though Dean can’t make out all the words, he can tell that they’re working their way up to it.

Alright. Okay.

There’s no way to stop them once they get going, all Dean can do is try to minimize the damage and broker peace when the smoke clears.

He’s got a couple minutes left before hell breaks loose, and he’s going to enjoy them to the fullest. _It’s my birthday after all_ , he tells himself as he slides down the tub, submerging himself under the water where the outside world seems distant, far away.

 

 

 


End file.
